


Recovery is a Spiral

by Tom_Tomorrow



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Big Sister Alex Danvers, Big Sister Maggie Sawyer, Depression, F/F, Implied/Referenced Torture, Introspection, Kara Danvers Needs a Hug, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Questionable Media Tactics, Road Trip, detainment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23204803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tom_Tomorrow/pseuds/Tom_Tomorrow
Summary: They’re going nowhere in particular and that’s almost better than having a destination, but it’s something that’s unspoken that they’ve planned to do, until, at least, the news cycle died down. But the more time they all spend together, the more time Kara spends in this state, Maggie realizes that the most worrisome thing isn’t her anxiety or those waking nightmares she had every few days, it’s her sense of detachment.The sense that Kara is looking at this from the outside in as she drifts from place to place.The sense that Kara is pretending. \\\\Supergirl is pardoned after seven months in prison for her alleged role in the White House Terror Attack and in an ill-conceived road trip as they wait for the media outrage to die down, Maggie realizes that fighting to get her released isn't nearly as hard as the recovery.\\\\Could be read as a sequel to The Pardon or a stand alone.
Relationships: Alex Danvers & Kara Danvers, Alex Danvers/Maggie Sawyer, Kara Danvers & Maggie Sawyer
Comments: 17
Kudos: 159





	Recovery is a Spiral

**Author's Note:**

> Found out I had three half finished fics sitting in the bunker, so thought I would try to finish and publish them, considering quarantine.
> 
> This is a slight AU.
> 
> Italics are the 'past'. Non itallics are not. It is a non-linear narrative that happens over several weeks. Hopefully, it makes sense.

“Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound! It’s a bird, it’s a plane, no, it’s- Supergirl!”

It is one of the most nationally recognized catchphrases in the modern world. Echoing across the newsreels, plastered on the boxes of action figures in the toy aisle, blasted across the megatrons at sporting events, sitting somewhere in between the McDonald’s ‘I’m lovin it’ and the Jeopardy theme song in terms of recognizability.

Superman and Supergirl were larger than life. 

Between the two of them there are fifty-four keys to cities, pictures with three of the last four sitting presidents, four life-sized granite sculptures, one in Metropolis, two in DC, and one in National City, and of course, the complete adoration of the entire nation. 

They make visits to children’s hospitals, build houses with Habitat of Humanity, hold the torch for the Special Olympics and pursue a variety of other philanthropist activity with a genuine enthusiasm all the while having the uncanny ability to break up criminal drug rings or whatever else had decided to rear its ugly head and make it home to dinner in the same day. 

Consistently listed amongst the most influential people in the world. 

Powerful beyond measure.

But power invites challenge, and challenge incites conflict, which often breeds catastrophe.

It was a reality that was always there.

The fascination with ending the Kryptonians. 

Even before Maggie had moved to National City, there was a general well hidden knowledge, at least from what she could tell, that Superman and Supergirl weren’t omnipotent. That someone out there knew that there was something that could turn mighty into mortal, shown in the shaky phone-camera footage of Clark cradling his ribs or of pixelated CCTV footage of Kara wincing as she stumbled to her feet.

But after Max Lord and the Red Kryptonite incident, the Achilles Heel, Kryptonite it was called, became common knowledge, and everyone wants a slice of the pie.

Bizarro, Silver Kryptonite, Black, and of course, run of the mill Green.

At first, it is people with endless streams of revenue, like Max Lord and Lillian Luthor and the Sons of Liberty, pumping money into resources and coercing brain power into recreating the precarious, rare metal. 

Then recipes of synthetic kryptonite started proliferating the dark web and any Joe Blow had the opportunity to try, try, and try again.

Little tweaks here and there. 

Until the potency is strong and the half-life is twice as long. 

Until it is something they can no longer laugh off. 

Then Clark leaves for Argo with Lois and their unborn child.

And things get worse.

There is a clear instance in which Maggie remembers talking down a neurotic Kara while she waited for DEO backup, when the blonde had come to help out in a house fire, and had instead been shot with synthetic kryptonite laced with enough PCP to put down eleven men. 

So when it finally happens, Maggie doesn’t know why she is surprised that of all the people, of all the organizations, that the goddamn US government, had been the one to get their rocks off and find a way. 

The soft beep of the coffee pot pulls Maggie from her memories and she has to blink a few times to clear her vision. Then a few times more to make herself move her crossword puzzle to her other hand and go through the motions of lifting the pot and pouring it’s dark, rich contents into one of two styrofoam cups.

It’s just past five thirty in the morning and the red sun is just now pushing purple brightness in the sky, but the sleepy small town motel they’d stopped in is already on its way barely waking up. There’s a bored thirty-something receptionist picking at her nails at the front desk, an elderly couple spooning runny, scrambled eggs into their mouths, and a grey-haired businessman reading the local paper, but aside from the buzz of the conservative talking heads on television screens it is quiet. And Maggie, especially in recent events, appreciated the quiet moments like this. 

Kara, she’s found out, does too. 

Maggie doesn’t think it started after she started staying with them, because National City had always been a place that never slept and even then, Kara had always been the type of person to stay up with it and not really sleep until utter exhaustion forced it upon her. But it is only more noticeable now. 

“Careful, it’s hot.” 

Maggie instructs quietly, as to not disturb the other occupants, as she handed over the styrofoam cup to her sister in law.

Kara’s shoulders are curled inward and her eyes are distant when she looks up with a ghost of a not-real smile that enunciates the fading scar just above her brow, reaching a sweater covered hand out to accept the mug from the detective.

Maggie watches out of the corner of her eye as the cup drops a bit suddenly, drops of brown splashing out and dotting the wooden tabletop as Kara redistributes its weight, likely forgetting, as she did often, that the strength she used to have wasn’t there.

It was hard for the blonde to remember sometimes, after living in those kinds of extremes for over a decade, that she no longer lived in a world made of cardboard, always taking constant care not to break something, to break someone, never allowing herself to lose control even for a moment or someone could die. So when the flip switched, it resulted in a lot of broken dishes, if only for the fact that she was used to things being a lot lighter than what they actually were. 

“Thanks, Maggie.”

Kara whispers hoarsely, using the edge of the oversized sweater to swipe at the dots that remained behind. Her voice isn’t rough and scratchy from the screaming, because god knows she’s done enough screaming. She’d done enough of that for any lifetime, five weeks ago, five long, short, fleeting weeks. No, it was a combination of disuse and the trauma the bastard had inflicted on her, that makes Kara sound like she’s swallowing sandpaper, but even that’s progress because in the first few days, she hardly said a word.

And if there is a stake somewhere that Maggie could string all of the government officials that had signed off on this, then by God she would do it.

The detective nods silently, relishing the rich aroma as she brings her own cup up to her mouth as she moves to sit on the other side of the blonde.

It’s decaf, of course, though never explicitly said, but there is no way they’re letting Kara within ten feet of the espresso machine, not with those dark, dark circles under her eyes.

Maggie flattens out her crossword on the table and she feels Kara tracking her as she does, the blonde’s cup still cradled in her hands, but the detective doesn’t say anything. 

Instead, she only tilts the puzzle, so purposefully innocuous, so she knows they can both see it, flips out her pencil and begins working away at the clues. 

It’s routine now, the detective filling out a crossword puzzle cut out from the previous day's newspaper with a coffee mug, while Kara either stared off into a world of her own making or watched Maggie fill in the miniature white squares, as the sun rose in the window.

And she’s only gotten about five minutes into this one before she gets stuck at three-across, a thirteen letter word for mending. 

There was a standing offer for Kara to participate like she used too, months and months ago in what can only be described as before, but now she is silent.

Ever so silent.

And Maggie supposes that was another thing that she would never get used to. 

Just how quiet she had become. 

When the detective flits upward to look at her companion, Kara’s eyes are on the hallway leading to all the rooms again, her jaw ground so tight, that Maggie can see the tension in her forehead. 

And she doesn’t look scared or even nervous, but just haunted… and sad.

“Hey,” Maggie reminds gently, drumming her fingers softly on the table to get the blonde’s attention. “Alex will be out here soon. Remember she said she was going to grab a shower?”

Kara blinks once. Twice. Before nodding, her jaw relaxes as her gaze flits back toward Maggie and the crossword puzzle, finally bringing up her coffee to her mouth to drink.

“It’s warm.”

She whispers, more to herself, than to the detective, when she sets the mug down, and when Kara blinks again, she looks like she’s about to cry.

… …..

_This is what happens, America._

_This is what happens when you’ve put all your trust in an alien._

_They take it. They abuse it._

_You must remind yourself what the screening process for this person was._

_There was no official record for this pseudonym. No birth certificate, no social security card, not so much as a driver’s license and no one batted an eye. Now eleven people are dead, countless more injured, the Secretary of State is in Bethesda's intensive care unit and the alien this country put its trust in is responsible._

_The alien who put their trust in someone who turned out to be a terrorist._

_And by almighty God will she face the consequences._

…..

In the end, they don’t find Kara. 

They don't find a caped crusader who’s protected National City for the better part of four years, or a reporter who worked for one of the nation’s biggest media conglomerates, or even the detective's bright-eyed, goofy-smiled sister-in-law.

In the seven months spent in the search effort, three of which were spent in just trying to convince the government to tell them that Kara was, at least, alive, Maggie had never seen the inside of more courtrooms, from department to department, looking at apathetic face after apathetic face, fighting for crumbs when the entirety of the government, mainstream media, with the exception of CatCo, and the general public had already decided the verdict. 

It was seven months of working with J’onn and Brainy and Lucy Lane and Cat fucking Grant and more because there were actually some people, a rare breed, who believed that Supergirl wouldn’t have done what she had even if they hadn’t known about Red Daughter. 

Yet in the end, after countless closed door hearings, after numerous dispositions, of being told no at every turn, it only came to a head when the Red Daughter actually turned herself in by landing on the White House Lawn, and in the face of undeniable evidence, the fucking President had no choice, but to let Kara go.

And when Maggie had gone with Alex and Lucy to Misajon Airfield, where they’d had her all those months, they didn't find Kara Danvers or Supergirl. 

Instead, they found a woman lost between the two, listless, powerless, exhausted, and discernibly not unharmed, and they took her home. 

The only saving grace from the Baker administration, is the ounce of compassion they give in their disgusting display of apathy, by not making a media spectacle of her release to media, who now knows her as True Supergirl aka Female #1 and essentially letting the string of freedom loose.

Maggie still remembers the weeks in which the gangly blonde had spent in at a safehouse getting stitched back together, those long sleepless nights on the pull-out cot in the makeshift medical room with Alex in the dark, of sharp antiseptic infiltrating every part of her senses as Kara learned to walk again, without a limp, slowly, learned to use her hands again, rebroken and splinted, slowly, learned to heal slowly, because powerless, Baker and his cronies had found a way.

And it turns out consistent and prolonged exposure to kryptonite isn’t good.

With what they could get out of Kara in those first few days, her powers had flickered out about two and a half months in, and they hadn’t been back. Little Danvers is very vague on what happened to cause that, but Maggie just knows without them, the blonde is more vulnerable than the detective has ever thought she could be.

Her immune system had imploded and there were unexplained injuries that seemed stuck in whether to heal or not. It’s mostly bruises and mostly cuts, that on a surface level could be explained away. But there was an incorrectly healing greenstick fracture on her left arm, and half her fingernails are missing, and she has chemical burns streaking up her arms, and Kara is walking with a limp, like it hurts. And that… that all doesn’t happen by accident. 

And Maggie isn’t stupid, she knows about Abu Ghraib, about what people can do if they separate themselves enough from a situation, so there is a subtle knowing that there is more. 

She can see the pain even when Kara doesn’t say it, reflected in her eyes, shuttered and cloudy, darkened by the yellowing bruises marking her pallid skin and a roaring crescent shaped scar that, now, would probably never fully disappear.

Maggie is thankful that, at least, with the influx of alien immigrants in recent decades that medical sciences grew with it because this is all complicated new territory, new concepts, and minimal research. So even when Kara is only one of the two people left, Alex, at least, had an idea of where to start.

There are vials of blood drawn, vitals taken, and what few medical tests they can scrounge up, just for precaution’s sake because Kara keeps catching cold after cold and Alex is frantic trying to titrate medications up to a level that would do something for a Kryptonian. 

“Ready?”

Alex asks gently, kneeling on the coffee table behind Kara, who’s curled Indian- Style on the ottoman with a pillow between her elbows and knees, and the detective who’s in front of them both, on the couch itself.

The eldest Danvers has medical gloves on, a syringe in one hand, pulling back the applicator and Kara just nods.

Her nose is red, eyes watery, skin gaunt and sallow, and even though a month had passed since they’d taken her from the airfield, she’s still wiry and thin. There are still angles and distortions that weren’t there before all those months ago when Kara hadn’t necessarily been stocky, but could be described as strong, and the plaster cast on her arm is the cherry on fucking top because it encompasses her left arm like a cannon. 

And it at least hides the chemical burns left by kryptonite, the ones that are dark and emerald and warped and all too visible on her other arm.

She looks miserable.

“It’ll be quick.”

Maggie soothes, pressing down her anger, putting a hand on the blonde’s right arm, and Kara doesn’t pull away.

They’re doing a spinal tap, just once, in an abundance of caution to make sure the viral activity coursing through her blood stream isn’t in her nervous system as well, and the detective had been put on the duty of giving the sedative, a milky, cloudy liquid, in a syringe, because Alex’s gloves are sterile.

Though nothing about this seems super sterile, considering they’re in the motel suite of a Super 8 in Pacedino.

The contents would be sent to Lena and her trusted team of scientists, and Lena, for someone who champions being difficult to work with, has bent over backward doing whatever she can to help.

Kara nods again, gazing down at the IV at her arm. 

Maggie still can’t figure out if she’s nodding to appease them or if she is actually okay with it, but she has nodded so the detective pushes the applicator.

When the syringe is empty, Kara looks up at her again, and she opens her mouth like she’s going to say something, but she doesn’t. 

Instead, she just draws in a deep breath, one that raises through her slouched shoulders, and sighs, but the weight of the world that Kara’s carrying on her back doesn’t move with the exhalation

The trio sit in silence for a moment as Kara fades and when her eyes roll back Maggie catches her when she slumps over.

“Kara?”

Alex calls, looking at Maggie somberly.

“Kara, you good?”

Maggie shakes her a little and the blonde doesn’t even flinch. 

“I think she’s out. She took it like a champ.”

The detective murmurs.

Alex nods, but her brows are furrowed with discontent, as she slides the needle in Kara’s back.

“Hey, what’s wrong?

Maggie asks and Alex’s voice wavers when she answers.

“She took it like she’s done it before.”

… … …

_“The best thing about this country is the fact that all men are created equal, and that they are endowed with certain unalienable rights, including the right to a fair trial. However, the court takes note that the historic document comes from the Universal Declaration of Human Rights._

_Human. Not Aliens. And certainly not terrorists._

_The record shows that Supergirl is an alien. An alien who refused to let anyone examine her or her birthplace or even her true identity for documentation purposes. A vigilante with no official government record. An individual that reports to no one, not even a rogue governmental facility, that she is alleged to have worked for._

_And is a terrorist responsible for the senseless murder of over ten people._

_There can be no divided allegiance here. Anyone who says they are an American, but something else also, isn’t an American at all. We have room for but one flag, the American flag. We have room for one language here, and that is the English language. We have room for but one sole loyalty and that is loyalty to the American people._

_Make no mistake, humans are the rightful inhabitants of the planet and it is this administration's responsibility to keep them safe._

_Therefore, on the basis of these facts, Supergirl will not be given a lawyer, will not be given a trial, will not be given any visitation rights, will not be given anything, because anything more than the air she is breathing right now, is a luxury. Do you understand?”_

… … … 

The next few days were spent driving around the states they passed through and stopping at random places along the road. Driving here and there, the interior of J’onn’s Toyota Prius mostly filled with the easy hum of Top 40 radio tunes, the scratch of Kara’s pen against the sketch pad Alex had gotten her, and a comfortable silence that was only broken when one of them would point out something or get lost in a random train of thought.

They’re going nowhere in particular and that’s almost better than having a destination, but it’s something that’s unspoken that they’ve planned to do, until, at least, the news cycle died down.

Lucy was the one that had suggested it.

She’d been out of sight ever since Kara’s release and the days after, tying up loose ends on the governmental side of things, but maybe two weeks after everything, she’d reappeared, dressed down from her Air Force blues, in some sort of combat gear, and her hair had been frizzy and windswept as if she’s been running, even though it's likely the byproduct of stress. 

Her amber eyes were soft, but her stance was stiff as she stood with her and Alex in the kitchen of Cat Grant’s safehouse and handed Alex a manila envelope embroidered with the logo of the Department of Defense and presidential seal.

It had been a flimsy, one-page, standardized apology letter with President Baker’s signature at the bottom and a check for eleven grand.

All bundled up, nice and squeaky clean, devoid of all the reasoning of why Kara isn’t really Kara right now and as if eleven grand would wipe the last seven months away, only so the government could absolve themselves of any wrongdoing.

Lucy had said as much in a not so nice way.

She’d said it was their choice what to do with it. The letter.

But she’d advised them that if it were her that she would take money and get the hell out of dodge, take a break, a goddamn vacation, and go get some fresh air. 

It almost seemed inappropriate, dropping everything in this safe house and essentially running, but all of their places are still stuck in legal limbo and the media is rabid and the public is just as restless, and Kara… is still trying to put herself back together. 

There’s a deep-rooted anxiety that emanates from her now, a hesitance in her movements that is hard to ignore, like she’s worried, and though the blonde is trying hard to pretend everything is as it was, it’s clearly not, and it’s a lot better during the days than it is at night, but it is still a struggle trying to balance the urge to tell her that it’s okay not to be okay and maintain the idea of independence she needs to figure out things by herself. 

And it’s harder still, when they’re essentially in a forced isolation.

So when Lucy had left, they talked it over, broached the topic with Kara, and decided that fresh air wasn’t bad, that not being shut in all the time would do them some good, that something was better than nothing, and took to the road. 

“What do you want for lunch, Kara? Taco Whiz or O’Shaughnessy’s?”

Alex asks easily as they come up on another exit and Maggie doesn’t have to be a detective to know her wife’s eyes are flicking up toward the rear view mirror under her sunglasses. They’ve gotten into the habit of making sure there’s at least two options, purposely giving the blonde a choice so she’d be encouraged to have some sort of control of a situation that had taken from her in every way before. 

And Alex, Maggie knows, takes mental note of everything her sister says. Whether it seemed important or not. After all, that was one of the things she had learned first when Kara had first landed on this planet and struggled with the enormity of what witnessing her entire world blow up was: even the smallest things could be an important detail later on.

Maggie herself, taking J’onn’s advice to heart, started to, too.

“Uh… O’Shaughnessy’s?”

The blonde ventures, stretched out in the back seat fiddling with her cast, like it’s a question instead of an answer, but Alex only smiles and agrees that Irish burgers are far more appetizing than tacos.

Seven months, the detective knows, is more than enough to make such a formerly talkative person, so reluctant to speak.

It was another problem of many that they’re still working on, that even when Kara spoke about things completely unrelated to what happened during her imprisonment, there was a feeling that she was giving a carefully edited version of events. As if everything she said was all being documented somewhere and all they can see are a shadow of blacked-out parts and the word REDACTED in more than one paragraph.

And O’Shaughnessy’s is a safe bet. 

Even when it doesn’t feel like home, and the booths don’t hold a lifetime of memories, and the waitresses don’t know them by name, and they are just another tourist passing through, it is something that could be. It had an old diner feel, and graciously, unlike other pubs that don't have television. 

Maggie can argue convincingly, for everybody’s sake, not just Kara’s, that TV news is nobody’s friend and now a days, especially with Baker’s administration promotion of anti-alien panic, it has become way, way too easy to suddenly get blindsided by footage none of them need, vivid enough to have all of their limbic systems reacting before they've even really got through realizing what they're seeing.

The chain restaurant is also one of the only places Kara will consistently chow down on, because even with her powers dormant, calorie-dense meals are still a necessity, especially when she’s still catching up on the weight she’d lost from the whole ordeal.

“Is it closed? It looks closed.”

Maggie asks, as they pull into a dilapidated, very empty parking lot.

The neon lights of the sign are off, the inside empty and stripped bare, with chain links on the swinging door.

So it is closed. Not just for the day, but for seemingly a long time. 

And hand it to GPS to give them a location that has long since shut down. 

“Shit.”

Alex says.

“Well, it says a mile east is a Healy’s Diner? We can try there?”

Healy’s Diner, it turns out, is a small mom-and-pop shop that had clearly never seen the outside of the small town they’d pulled off at. It is reminiscent of those 50’s vintage diners that Maggie remembers only seeing on historical posters or hipster esque drive-ins from that one time she’d visited LA.

This parking lot is half empty, populated mostly by pick-ups and a motorcycle that is just as vintage as the diner, and when they step out, the detective almost expects to see someone with a poodle skirt walking around.

They approach the double doors and there’s a sign at the entrance.

It’s white and clearly printer paper, curling at the edges despite the yellowing tape, soit’s clearly been here for a while. And it’s wording is clear, in big blocked Times New Roman: HUMANS ONLY, NO ALIENS ALLOWED.

At the bottom there is a clip art picture of an alien with it’s body crossed out and a weeks old clip out from a local newspaper saying ‘with them around, we can never be safe.’

Maggie stops, narrowing her eyes, knowing what they’re referring to. 

Out of the corner of her vision, she can see Alex do the same.

Jesus. It really is like they’re trying to be the fifties. 

And this type of outright xenophobia had never been an outspoken thing until the White House incident, though Maggie is sure that that was just the kind of excuse they’d been looking for to excuse this behavior, and they’d been coming across it more and more on the road.

It had only been a week ago that they’d seen the protesters in front of Kozy Korner, only because it’s owners had dared to open its doors to everyone. 

And Kara, even without her glasses, had always had the benefit of looking more human than most, but it doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“It’s okay.” Kara whispers behind them in a sigh, pretending, but her tone is forlorn, and the dejection is heavy in her demeanor. “We can just eat outside or something.”

Alex squeezes her sister’s shoulder as they walk in. 

The waitress smiles at them, like there isn’t anti-alien sentiment written all over the establishment, clearly intrigued that someone other than the plaid-laden locals had wandered in, then frowns when they elect to take their orders out to the parking lot to sit under the warming sun and swishing of tall grass and farm land.

Soy beans, maybe?

It reminds Maggie of what good was left of Blue Springs in Nebraska.

Reminds her of riding horseback in the countryside. 

“I didn’t know you had a horse.

Kara says softly, and Maggie hadn’t even realized she’d been paying attention, her eyes glazed over towards the farmland and she still isn’t looking at them now as she methodically ate away at her burger, but at least she wasn’t a monster like Alex, who has an infinity for eating her burgers in a clockwise circle.

“I rode horses.” The detective corrects, smiling to show she’s not really annoyed.. “You know you sound exactly like Alex when I first told her that. Why is it so hard to believe that I used to ride horses?”

Alex snickers at her complaint, her eyes crinkling around the edges as her laugh rings through the air, and God she loves hearing that laugh.

“Gee I wonder why it’s hard to imagine Maggie Sawyer, former Gotham City cop, bad-ass detective, motorcycle-riding ‘reformed city folk’, as someone who rode around on horses.”

Alex jokes, leaning into her again, despite Maggie’s faux half-attempt to shove her away.

“First, motorcycles and horses are practically the same thing. Second, you’re exaggerating the heck out of things. Third, ‘reformed city folk’? Really?”

Alex laughs again and launches into a thoroughly prepared thesis about the basis of reformed city folk.

Maggie sits for a few moments, trying to come up with a just as fancy rebuttal, but of course, Alex is a nerd, and she’s bringing up fancy words that the detective is half-convinced she’s making up as they get stringed together into sentences. So instead she just results in just rolling her eyes at Kara, who’s finally turned to look at them.

It earns another shove from Alex, who teases that she’s a sore loser, but Maggie thinks the half smile Kara gives her makes it worth it.

And sitting cross-legged under the setting sun with the remnants of diner food in their hands, Maggie lets her forget of the xenophobic resturant behind them, and believes that even with Kara pressed up against the back of the car so she can cater to her vantage point, that today is one of the better days.

….

_The Supergirl monument in National City has again been vandalized, cameras caught four hooded individuals dowsing the once renowned figure in gasoline then setting it alight._

_This comes after numerous other vandalization attempts, despite being moved away from downtown National City to a more secure location._

_It is expected to be destroyed later this week after Mayor Harris utilized executive privilege and ordered the statue to be disposed of officially, despite offers to purchase the statue from LuthorCorp’s Lena Luthor and Cat Grant of the media conglomerate CatCo._

_Mayor Harris was quoted as saying, “to sell this statue would be to profit off of tragedy and that is not who we are as Americans.”_

… ...

Ojai is even smaller.

So small that the town has one of those signs that has flip cards with the exact population on it and the only place they have there for visitors is a local bed-and-breakfast run by an elderly couple with wizened eyes and thinning grey hair. 

On the surface, they are both jovial when Maggie comes inside to check the availability. They crow on and on about how they haven’t gotten visitors because of the recent lag in travel and suggest local restaurants ,none of which Maggie recognizes because apparently Ojai discourages chain restaurants from setting up shop here in the name of uniqueness. Not that it matters when the clock is fast approaching midnight.

But when Alex and Kara come in, a minute or two behind her, the demeanor changes minutely, and even when they pay for the room key, the detective feels, rather than sees the couple look at them suspiciously.

It’s not really their fault, Kara’s still looking a little rough, and in their defense they don’t gawk and they don’t ask. 

“Car wreck.”

Maggie explains anyway. 

And they nod, though still casting suspicious looks their way.

“I’m going to call James.”

Kara says lowly, when they’re in the shared bedroom, something heavy and dark, hanging over her. 

A part of the agreement they have with the government is to keep a low profile, and with J’onn and Brainy still on ‘strongly’ suggested isolation, Clark inaccessible on Argo, James and Lucy running around trying to put out the fires this power vacuum had left behind and with Lena and Cat running multi-billion corporations, it means a lot of encrypted phone calls. 

They each have an encrypted cell-phone. 

And everyone keeps in touch.

It’s the only way to keep their sanity in times like this. 

It’s the only way until this all blows over.

… … 

_“The United States of America is a country that strives to be one of proactiveness. We have contingency plans for nukes in North Korea, Anthrax in our mail, we have fluoride in our water, and we have brave young people all across the world defending our nation’s interests and supporting our allies… making it possible for our children to go to school and for our loved ones to get home safe. I was one of those men, serving in the military for over a decade, making sure that could happen. There were hard choices. There were difficult choices. But in the interest of the American people that we were elected to serve, we were willing to cross the aisle to get things done to get and keep our country safe._

_Seven years ago, National Security Advisor, Dexter Tolliver, poised a question. What if Superman had decided to fly down, rip the roof of the White House and grab the President of the United States right out of the Oval Office? He was ridiculed by the media and was eventually encouraged to resign in disgrace._

_Now it is seven years later, and Superman has skipped town and his female alter ego has done the deed that we were warned about and people died because we had no contingency._

_The ones we trusted most failed and there are individuals in this country right now that could do just as bad or worse on a mere whim._

_So now we, the American people, the human people, have a choice._

_Several of my colleagues have together on the new bill known currently as SB 1070 Bill. It introduces sweeping new legislation on alien immigration, regulation statues, and containment policies._

_So the next time this happens, there will be a contingency._

…. …

Nights are hard.

These days, Kara thinks she knows how to hide herself away.

Heroes, after all, don’t freak out. Heroes save the day. Heroes stop the bad guy. Heroes save the innocents and have no concern for what it takes.

Heroes don’t cry. They don’t shake. They don’t press a hand against their mouth and tell themselves to breathe, breathe, breathe, even if it feels like there isn’t any air in the entire universe left to do so.

And in the days, Kara lives by this, but nights are a different beast.

The blonde has developed an antagonism against sleeping. Manifesting in a way in which the detective and Alex can hear Kara pacing around at night, doing pushups, jumping jacks, everything she could to not fall asleep, in the suite room adjacent to theirs. Often going three or four days before exhaustion finally caught up with her and sometimes things like this happened. 

Maggie’s second roommate after she’d settled in Gotham City had been a sleepwalker, but dealing with Kara when she was…like this…had made putting up with the sleepwalking seem like child's play.

So when the detective hears the clatter of her sister-in-law scrambling across the floor into the empty suite motel bathroom, she isn’t necessarily surprised as she sat up sharply and flinging a blanket off her legs. 

Alex is already ahead of her, hair mussed and dark circles in front of her eyes, but they are both clearly thinking the same thing. 

No no no not now, not now, oh fuck…

Maggie hears Kara make a noise in the bathroom, stripped raw and bare, something between groan and a yell, and on a list sounds the detective doesn’t like hearing, that is pretty damn up there.

The sound of something clattering to the floor echoes from within. A towel rack? It has to be, they’d already moved out all the other miscellaneous soaps and shampoos and what else could be in a motel bathroom?

Then Alex’s hand is on the door knob. 

"Kara!" 

Alex catches her sister a little as the blonde comes stumbling out of the black maw of the doorway, holding on to her arm to steady her and then quickly backing off. Even though Kara was, and still is, a very tactile person, asking for permission had always been a thing with the sisters. Maggie’s sure there is a story behind why, but she has never thought to ask. 

Either way, it was better to back off at least until Kara had time to calm down a little on her own. It is hard to be sure, though, if that was going to happen this time, because this isn’t sleepwalking. 

This is someone who still has the claws of a nightmare ground into them.

And Maggie can see the fear in her eyes. 

Kara lurches away from Alex, fumbling her way along the walls, movements jerky and frantic in the moonlight pouring through the window. 

Her mouth was slightly open and the detective can hear her making small wounded noises, and after a few long moments of them both trailing her down the short hallway, she leans one shoulder heavily on the wall and gulps a ragged breath that is very near a sob.

"Hey," Alex tries again, gently, "Hey."

Kara shies away, further down the hall, closer to the entrance, slinking one hand up through her dirty blond hair, pointing the other cast-encased at them, trying to ward them off. And Maggie feels for the light switch, letting warm yellow light swathe the area, as Alex inches closer, reaching out a hand, still hovering, not touching her sister’s arm.

“Kara, it's okay. You’re here. With us.”

Alex murmurs, the struggle to maintain some bit of calmness evident, as she leans back a little to show her empty hands, and the blonde twitches, eyes squinting into slits under the incandescence. 

"Please… I-I said I didn’t… I- I..." 

Kara breathes tearfully, eyes moving and moving and moving, brows stitching together, staring harder and the detective thinks Kara might have forgotten because she won’t calm down, won’t stop looking.

And Maggie closes her eyes briefly.

It never really got any easier.

"I… didn’t-" 

Kara begins, then breaks off and shakes her head, motions all clumsy and awkward, as if her body didn't belong to her, as she pushes away again, stumbling toward the door. 

"Kara, don’t!" 

Alex moves after her but Kara already had the door open and it is all to clear that the flight mechanism had taken over. Maggie curses silently, grabbing for their jackets, as the door flung out wide and as she turns to chase after them she comes up short, inches from Alex’s back, staring out at the darkened, cracked parking lot and the trees whispering in the night breeze.

“Hey!” Alex says firmly and loudly this time, sliding in front of Kara, blocking her from moving further. “Look at me. Look at me right now.”

And the next words that come out of Alex’s mouth are choppy and clumsy and definitely not in English, but it does the trick because Kara straightens and though her eyes are still distant, still far away, her brows furrowed in confusion. 

"Alex?" 

Kara whispers like it's a question.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Alex affirms, soft and soothing, without hesitation, without missing a beat, mustering a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes.

Kara blinks once. Twice. Gazing at both of them emptily, eyes miserable and wide. 

And Maggie moves closer, out of the left field of Kara’s vision, next to her wife, so the younger woman isn’t caught between who to look at, even when she’s clearly not looking at either of them. 

"I don't understand." 

Kara says, words slow and cracked around the edges. 

“It’s us, Little Danvers. Your sister and I. We’re at a motel in LittleVille. We stopped here for the night, remember? ”

Maggie says, firmly and steadily, sticking to the facts before the blonde has time to refute them. "

"I don't…" 

Kara shakes her head, slowly, and Maggie is reminded again of her sleepwalking friend. 

"Here," Alex says gently, holding her wrist out to her trembling sister, lightly tapping on it. “Feel this here? It’s real.”

Kara says nothing, eyes darting around her, still looking for the shadows at the edge of her mind, but eventually she reaches out, touching Alex’s wrist.

Awareness flickers into Kara’s dull eyes, and as though a switch had flipped, the blonde lets out a rattling breath, deflating with the movement, like a balloon running out of air.

“See?” Alex whispers. "Now let’s go inside. It's dark, Kara. It’s cold.” 

And now that Kara has touched her, Alex takes it as permission, reaching out to the blonde, urging her closer, and Maggie hands her a jacket. One for Kara. Draping the other over Alex’s shoulders.

"I…” Kara whispers. “I was… right there… I don't understand."

And she won’t let herself be pulled by Alex, confusion still marking her movements, but she’s more subdued than earlier, more clear.

She’s coming out of it.

"I know. I know you don't. Just… let’s go inside okay? We’ll figure this out together." 

And this time when Alex pulls, Kara follows.

…

_“Send them home! Send them home! They don’t belong here! Alien scum!”_

… ..

Recovery comes in tides and waves. 

It isn’t exponential growth, it isn’t even steady.

It’s a game of chutes and ladders.

And on a deeper level Maggie knows this.

But something has switched off and the detective can’t shake the feeling of worry, of doubt. 

After the Motel 6 incident last week, Kara had been embarrassed, done a spectacular job of avoiding them and the subject, despite sharing the same space as them most of the time, and essentially shut herself down. 

She’d only had seven of those incidents, but each of them are getting closer together and fewer in between, and that kind of trajectory in itself points to something being wrong, because Kara has had more freedom in the outside world than she’d had in solitary confinement, but she won’t talk about why.

Instead, she starts doing push ups religiously trying to tire herself out now, instead of staying awake, convinced that if she’s tired enough, she won’t be able to dream. Instead, she picks at her food only eating because she has too, not wanting to worry Alex. Instead, she throws herself into her sketchpad, and Maggie realizes she doesn't even know what she’s drawing in there.

And whatever the blonde had been stuck in the last time must have spooked her because for the first time since those initial few days, Kara began accepting the melatonin Alex offers to help her sleep better at night. 

They both tell Kara she has nothing to worry about, that this is part of the healing process, but Kara wants none of it, and it’s like pulling teeth because among the many things the government had stolen from Kara, pride isn’t one of them. 

So she and Alex let it go, kind of. 

It’s an agreement between them that they don’t hide anything from Kara and they won’t hover over her, but it is under the acknowledgment that the blonde knows that nothing is too silly or too stupid to come talk to either of them about. 

In her defense, Kara has started coming to them about some things, small things, nervous and robotic, like how she can’t eat oatmeal anymore or how it is still too quiet too much of the time, but things all the same. Like she has to say them. Like a leak in a dam, her state of mind dripping out piece by piece, information seeping out enough through the cracks, exposing more and more about what happened in those months, and like a dam, Maggie knows the pressure will come too much and one day it will all rush out.

For now though, Kara seems content with slapping band-aids over the holes.

But the more time they all spend together, the more time Kara spends in this state, Maggie realizes that the most worrisome thing isn’t her anxiety or those waking nightmares she had every few days, it’s her sense of detachment. 

The sense that Kara is looking at this from the outside in as she drifts from place to place. 

The sense that Kara is pretending.

… ... 

_There are reports coming from several media outlets, that someone resembling the infamous Supergirl has just landed on Capitol Hill._

_While at this time there is no evidence of violence occurring, the Secret Service, SWAT, and the Alien Defense Squad are currently on the scene preparing to detain the unknown woman._

_WFYL news will keep those interested in the developing story as it occurs._

… …. …. …

“Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing.”

Alex whispers one night in the dark, even when they don’t have too, because Kara is zonked out on the sleeping pills she finally agreed to take in the next room over and doesn’t have the super ability to hear a pin drop from a mile away anymore.

Maggie’s turns from her back to her side so she’s facing Alex who continues to stare at the ceiling.

And they’ve been so focused on Kara’s progress, on making sure Kara gets better, Maggie forgets that they’re all in this, that they are all struggling. 

“What do you mean?”

The former detective asks gently, even when she knows where the conversation is going.

“By not fighting hard enough. By not saying no.”

Alex turns to her, so they meet each other's eyes, and her expression is remorseful, regretful.

“Alex, you fought damn hard. She’s back. She’s safe. And I know she’s struggling, but I don’t think I’ve known anyone who fought harder than that.”

Maggie starts and Alex’s smile is wobbly. 

“No… it’s not just that. I’m talking about before.”

Her wife continues.

“Every time Kara looks at me and her eyes look so… so haunted, I think back to those half forgotten classes about the psychological effects of fighting aliens and catastrophes and death and about all those times where she’s gotten kidnapped and of the weapons, the blasters and swords and knives and the kryptonite and the threats over the years and I think about how I… I should have said no.”

Alex fumbles for her words, reaching out to hold Maggie’s hand, and her grip is warm and soft, and the detective would hold it forever if she could.

“Kara was never supposed to do this. She wasn’t supposed to be Clark. Every day when we were younger, it was ingrained into keeping everything as normal as possible. No powers. No nothing. And even when we graduated, the whole charade continued, and then I was in the plane crash. And I warned her and she said she wanted to do it and I was mad, but I let her. And I let her. And I let her. And I continued to let her.”

Maggie stays silent, knowing Alex has to get this off her chest. 

“And a part of me knows the necessity of it all. The fact that it would have happened one way or another, and really, there wasn’t any other choice, and the world, this planet has been saved ten times over because of what she chose to do. But the other part of me, the larger part is yelling at me now, because… because the people I worked for, the people she worked for did this. And… the world… despite how she fought for them, despite everything, hates her. And- and seven months… And I couldn’t… I couldn't protect her. Yet, all Kara does is look at me, look at me with those big, too sad eyes and I can see how she’s hurting, but she trusts me so implicitly and I can only wonder how I managed to fail so much and not even realize it.”

Alex takes a breath, shuddering and deep, forcing the exhalation out through her nose in an effort to stifle her tears.

It only halfway works.

“I should have said no.”

Her wife echoes, her voice distant, a lifetime of memories flashing by in her mind, and the death grip Alex has on her hand is cutting the detective’s circulation, but still she doesn’t let go as Alex finishes.

“Alex…”

Maggie starts softly, reaching out her free hand to wipe away at the brunette's tears. 

“Alex, you didn’t fail. What happened and what’s happening is shitty. There’s no denying that. And you’re right, when you said this world has been so goddamn unfair. And you’re right when you said that Kara probably would have made the same judgement call one way or another. You’re right, but what you’re doing now, what you did then, isn’t failing.”

Maggie soothes, not for sake of just saying it, but because it’s true and the truth needs to be heard.

“I think the best thing that ever could have happened in this universe was for Kara to get a sister like you. You didn’t throw her to the wolves, Alex. You didn’t turn your back on her when she made that decision to be Supergirl. You stood by her and you’re standing by her right now. You’re doing the right thing. And Kara trusts you for it. And when she’s ready to come talk she will.”

Alex nods silently, biting her lower lip.

“I know she’s hurting. I know we’re all hurting, but you know what she says all the time right?”

And Alex smiles sadly.

“El Marayah.”

… …. ….

_The Baker administration has released an official statement on the woman that landed on Capitol Hill yesterday claiming to be the true perpetrator of the White House terrorist attack that occurred almost seven months ago._

_The woman was taken into custody and inside sources have stated that the reality of her being the true perpetrator of the incident are so far being deemed credible._

_If this is true, that means that the other woman blamed for this attack, Supergirl who is currently being held at an undisclosed location and who’s current status is unknown, may have been wrongly convicted._

_Tell me Scott, what does that mean for America?_

_Well what I have to say to Amy, is that even if Supergirl wasn’t the true perpetrator of those horrific events, there are many other laws and statutes that she’s broken over the years. I’m sure there are people that have been harmed by that vigilante’s reckless endangerment, and I know businesses have been severely hurt due to irreparable property damage. So honestly, maybe prison is where she needs to be, just to face some accountability for her actions._

...

“Huh. I thought it would be bigger.”

The former detective muses.

They’re standing in front of the World’s Tallest Thermometer because, of course, with all the random roadside attractions they’ve stopped at, there is one, in Baker, California. 

It had taken a two hour car drive and she could see the heat rolling off the concrete as they pulled into the parking lot in Death Valley, but it was less crowded than the World’s Tallest Fork in Anaheim, so that was something.

“Maggie, it says it's one hundred and thirty feet tall.”

Alex drawls dryly, her head craning upwards to see the top of the sign. There’s still some tourists mingling about to the chagrin of the tour guide and across the way Kara was bent over the information sign, reading it like it was going to be something that was tested on later. Something is clearly bothering the blonde, evidenced by her clenched fists barely hidden underneath Alex’s National City University sweatshirt, with though the thermometer is clocking in at eighty-four degrees with the sun setting, and how subdued she is, even more than usual.

“I mean, yeah, but imagine this being your claim to fame. It’s at least gotta be five story building tall. I mean come on.”

Maggie says watching Kara drift away from the informational poster, running her hand along the barrier as she makes her way toward the encompassing buildings. 

“Wow! Brave for someone who grew up in Blue Springs.”

Alex jokes, waving the travel brochure in front of her face, moving the stagnant air around.

“Hey, I think we had at least one more barn and one more river than Midvale did.”

Maggie says poking at Alex, who pokes her back, and they both look back at the thermometer. 

Tall and solemn and stabbing into the sky.

It says eighty-three degrees now, so that was something. 

The detective definitely liked the fork better. 

“Hey, where’d Kara go?”

Alex asks suddenly, standing straighter, eyes cutting across the dissipating crowd. 

“She’s over there.”

Maggie points to where Kara is lingering near the side of one of the office buildings and slowly the duo make their way over. 

“Hey, what are you… doing?”

Alex trails off as both she and Maggie see what Kara’s looking at. 

It's a mural.

Of Supergirl.

Of her flying, cutting through the white, puffy clouds and the pale, blue sky.

It encompasses the entirety of the wall. 

Hyper-realistic, down to the waves in her blonde hair, the blue of her uniform, the S on her chest… and the red everywhere else. 

The artist had colored her blue eyes bright maroon, flecked crimson across her outfit, decorated her fists with blood, and streaked across the bottom, in colorful phrasing: ‘What’s that in the sky? It’s a murderer… It’s a terrorist… No, it’s Supergirl!’ 

A sickening twist on the once popular slogan. 

Kara is looking up at it, eyes glossy, jaw sharp with tension, and next to the wall, she looks so, so small. 

“Kara.. .”

Alex starts, but Kara shakes her head. 

“It’s okay.”

The blonde whispers, rough and thick, and she looks away from them both, moving to rake through her long hair, and Alex’s over-sized sweater slides back with the movement, exposing her arm. Kara’s cast has been off for less than four days, but the skin is still all stretched and watery and tight, pale and weak, like a root dragged up from underground and blanched in water, stained with the chemical burns of all the kryptonite that is only now, weeks later begun to fade. 

“It’s not okay.”

Maggie mutters firmly. 

Kara snorts, and it sounds weird coming out of her mouth right now, it sounds wrong to be laughing right now.

“I-it it… is. It is… It all is.” 

Kara replies, voice suddenly rising an octave, stuttering over her emotions, and her hands come back down, clenching into her fists at her side. 

“It… it just means t-that they’re right. They’re all right? Right?”

And there’s hostility in her tone that wasn’t there before, pumping her words full of anger and exasperation, until anger wins, carries her voice higher and higher until Kara is yelling at them. 

Alex blinks. Maggie blinks. The few remaining tourists turn around to stare.

The detective flips back through the events in her mind, trying to figure out what Kara means by being right and this anger has come out of nowhere.

Since her release, Kara’s never has gotten mad.

Sad? Yes. 

Nervous? Definitely.

But mad?

The blonde is shaking, eyes distant as she looks at Alex, at her, then jerks her line of the vision left to look at the other tourists, and the color is rapidly seeping away from her already pale features.

Kara steps back. Away from them. Closer to the wall. 

And it is a horrifying juxtaposition.

A larger than life Supergirl, painted as the monster the public made her out to be, and Kara Danvers, her sister-in-law who’s self-destructing because they aren’t able to find the red wire.

It’s a singular sort of pain that Maggie can’t quite place.

“Please guys,” Kara whispers, small again, quiet, the anger wisped away. “Just let it be okay.”

And she turns around and walks away.

… …

_President Baker stood before Congress today and formally pardoned Supergirl of all accusations she was imprisoned for including her role in the White House terror attack. In this unprecedented turn of events, Baker has issued an apology and has stated that arrangements are being made with unidentified individuals claiming to be close with Supergirl on the criteria of her release._

_While no information has been provided on Supergirl’s containment during this time, the President assures that she was treated with the utmost respect, dignity and humanity. Though there will be stipulations required as Supergirl transitions back into society._

_Supergirl #2 aka Red Daughter has been formally detained and is expected to carry out a life sentence for her atrocious crimes._

… … ..

“I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.”

Kara whispers, forcefully, calm when they find her.

She hadn’t gone far. Only the five hundred feet it took to get to the concrete barrier in front of the car, where she sits with her eyes closed, knees curled up to her chest, head resting against the bumper of the hood.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sure the people who decided to visit the world’s tallest thermometer, needed to see something more exciting in their lives.”

Maggie says as she and Alex sit down cross-legged across from in the warm, dusty sand, but Kara’s expression barely wavers.

The tension is hard in her jaw, her hands wound so tight Maggie can see the white in her knuckles, as her nose flares with each forceful inhalation.

Maggie doesn’t have to be a detective to see how hard she’s trying not to cry.

“Hey…” 

Alex murmurs, drumming her fingers on the ground beneath her, leaving small indentations in the sand. 

“Hey, wanna tell us what’s on your mind?”

Kara’s chin trembles and she’s biting her lip into her mouth hard now to keep from talking. Maggie can practically feel it, the ghost of the pain from doing so, and her heart twists, sinks deeper into her stomach, as she watches the internal battle ensue.

“Kara…”

Alex says again, soft and gentle and deliberate and everything her sister needs right now because the blonde is clearly only half an inch from imploding.

And it works. 

“T-they were right. A-Alex, they w-were....”

Kara whispers finally, words fracturing thinly into the air. 

“Who was?”

Carefully calm, carefully steady, everything Kara is not because the blonde is shaking now, trembling in her spot.

“Lieutenant Wilson and- and- Morrow and Sivana and the rest of them. They were right. They were… They were...

Kara groans miserably, pressing her forehead into her knees, making herself smaller as she stumbles on her explanation. 

“I-I told em… I told em it wasn’t my fault, that I didn’t do it and they…. They said it didn’t matter.”

She whimpers.

“And I let them pick me apart and lock me away and do h-horrible things, but I told t-them Alex, that it wasn’t my fault. And they said it didn’t matter anyway b-because the damage was done. And that the entire world already hated me anyway. And it’s t-true.”

Kara hiccups, her hands pushing up her forearms, rubbing the distorted skin there, futility attempting to soothe herself.

It is all coming out now.

And Maggie has a sickening realization, that all this time, Kara’s been blaming herself for this. That with everything that’s happened, she’s putting this all on her, even when she’s been absolved of every potential crime, and how didn’t the detective see this sooner. 

How terribly alike the sisters were.

“And I don’t wanna eat because it all tastes like… like… Rao… like ash, when I swallow. And I can’t sleep Alex because it’s scary and waking up, gasping, drenched in sweat and trying not to scream, is almost scarier. And… and everywhere we go it’s Supergirl this and Supergirl that and I can’t stop thinking about what I let them… let them do to me there. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t… I can’t I can’t I can’t - And they released me four months ago, so I’m supposed to be better, right? I’m supposed to be. And I’m supposed to feel something. Happy or… or… relieved… or… mad or anything because I can see you guys and I get to t-talk to Eliza and J'onn and James and Cat but... but all I feel is sad.”

Maggie has never liked seeing people cry, and as Kara’s shoulder’s shake when and she finally dissolves into tears, it hurts. Because this isn’t her trying to wake up from those living nightmares that Alex and the detective have to calm her down from, this is the reality of her situation, and she is very much awake.

“All I f-felt there was sad and all I’ve felt since I’ve gotten out is s-sad. And I don’t wanna be sad anymore… I just… I j-just want it to be okay.” 

Kara whispers pitifully and Maggie’s eyes burn, blurring the image of her sister-in-law with the salt of her eyes.

“Kara… hey, Kar, can you look at me? Please?”

Alex urges softly and it is long moments before the blonde is able to lift her head from her knees, tears heavy and silent, and meet their eyes.

‘I want to say something, okay?’

Alex tells her, reaching out for Kara’s hand, rubbing her fingers over the blonde’s knuckles. 

“First, you didn’t let them do anything to you. I don’t care what they told you or what they tried to make you believe, but what happened there, it’s on them. Not on you. It was not your fault. I don’t care how you cut it. It is not on you.”

Alex starts, and even as her voice shakes, it’s firm in her conviction. 

“And Lieutenant Wilson and Morrow and the others? Fuck them. And fuck the public too. They don’t know you. They don’t know what happened. They’re following the trend. And the trend is to be an idiotic asshole.”

Maggie follows, trying to stifle the bite of anger that comes with acknowledging how willing society was when it came to scapegoating someone, how Baker had essentially been able to wipe his hands of this and walk away. 

“And it’s hard. You know it’s hard. I know it’s hard. Maggie knows it’s hard. And it hurts, that we can’t take that pain away from you. And it hurts that they took things from you, that you can’t get it back. And I know that what was before seems impossible now. And that hurts. And I know you want everything to be okay again.”

Alex murmurs and Kara says nothing, tears of salt still trailing silently from her bloodshot eyes, her hand moving to swipe at them. 

“But I want you to know that what’s happening now is okay. Being sad is okay, having nightmares are okay, thinking about it is okay. Hell, getting mad and yelling at us is okay. Because it means you’re normal. That what you’re experiencing is normal. And I wish there was some switch that would turn it off. I wish it was that it was easy. I wish I could go back in time and make it so that these things go away, but these things take time.”

Her wife explains. 

“Three months?”

Kara asks bleakly, voice rough and muddled, and the audible resignation tells them she already knows the answer.

Alex shrugs.

‘I… wish I had an answer.”

And Kara is crying again, harder this time, hard enough that her shoulders are shaking. 

She and Alex slide up beside her on the barrier and Kara doesn’t close herself off anymore, leaning into the crook of Alex’s shoulder, letting Maggie hold her other hand, warm and shaking on her own. 

“Supergirl is something they can’t take away from you. Kara Danvers isn’t either. And Maggie and I… and all the others. We’re here with you, until to the end of the line. However long it takes. They can’t take that away from you.”

Alex says, rubbing Kara’s back, soothing the tension. 

“El Marayah. Right?”

Maggie says, as Kara’s grip solidifies in her own.

“We’re stronger together,” Alex echoes, smiling sadly at the doctor over her sister’s quaking form. “We'll be okay together.” 

Maggie doesn’t know how long they sit there under the waning sunset of the angry sun, letting Kara exhaust herself with tears, until the reddened colors morph into the inky starry night of the Death Valley Sky and the lethargic heat turns into something more manageable, but she is content to stay there as long as it takes.

Because this is her family. Alex is her family. Kara is her family.

And she will do anything to make sure they feel safe. 

… 

_Where is Supergirl?_

_It’s been months since her release has been finalized, there have been unconfirmed sightings of her up and down the West Coast, but no official sighting of the Girl of Steel to date._

_People still need help, people are still in trouble, and it seems National City’s hero is gone and the United States must turn to other methods to protect its interests._

_Did Baker and his administration do the right thing, in just letting her go?_

_…. …_

Fin. 

**Author's Note:**

> This one was kind of a doozy. I can try to explain stuff if it's unclear the comments.
> 
> For the purposes of this fic, they have told Clark not to come down because he risks getting killed with the anti-alien sentiment. Realized the plot hole to late, but didn't know how to fix it_
> 
> I have two more fics , I'm working on getting finished, but am open to any ideas because I have come into a lot of free time with COVID-19.
> 
> Bonus for guessing the crossword.


End file.
